


A Chance Encounter

by TheMoonMoths



Category: Star Wars Sequel Trilogy
Genre: Alpha Ben Solo, Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, And All The Ensuing Tomfoolery, Ben is a Grumpy Wildlife Photographer, F/M, Fake Dating, Fake/Pretend Relationship, Mating Cycles/In Heat, Omega Rey, Partially Tagged for Later Chapters, Rey is a Cocktail Waitress, Severe Emotional Constipation, Sharing a Bed, Size Difference, Size Kink
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-07-16
Updated: 2020-09-29
Packaged: 2021-03-05 04:28:32
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 15,006
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25318333
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheMoonMoths/pseuds/TheMoonMoths
Summary: Rey Niima’s life turns upside down when paparazzi take pictures of Ben Solo walking her home one night. Within the span of just a few hours, the whole world is led to believe that they're dating.Unfortunately, there is only one thing they can do.Play along.
Relationships: Rey/Ben Solo | Kylo Ren
Comments: 114
Kudos: 337





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Based on [this](https://twitter.com/cruelsmmerss/status/1280611835725729792?s=20) prompt. ❤️
> 
> Hi, hello! How's everyone doing? I'm back with something very different (needed a break from all the canonverse angst, but fear not, I'm currently working on the canon-divergence one, too). Anyways, I've been wanting to write an A/B/O for a *long* time. I'd started on a different project a few months ago, but the idea fell through and that draft is now sitting abandoned in my Google Drive. I have a much better feeling about this one, though, so strap in for a tropey ride!
> 
> P.S. I don't want to add a chapter count just *yet*, but I think we're looking at around ten chapters. :)

Rey would like to say that she isn't star-struck—after all, this is neither the first nor last time she'll be waitressing at a cocktail reception teeming with public figures—but she is, just a little bit. By the sheer virtue of being a trendy Japanese Izakaya restaurant, The Chasm has always attracted hordes of e-celebrities from apps she doesn't have time to keep up with. But these are the Skywalkers, and the Skywalkers— 

Well, they are the real deal. 

As she's zig-zagging through the crowd, sparkling flutes of Laurent Perrier champagne on her tray and a small, noncommittal smile plastered on her face, it's hard not to be intimidated by just how well-connected this family seems to be. Everyone from high-ranking political figures to athletes decked in chic designer clothing seems to be here. In the ever-bustling throng, Rey even catches glimpses of what she _thinks_ are some Hollywood B-listers, though she's done this job long enough to know not to ogle.

She's also never felt smaller or less seen.

But since it is her job to be a pleasant, invisible shadow and she _is_ a nobody from nowhere, that's a good thing. The open area is bathed in golden light that's flickering over the mahogany wall paneling and the stone accents next to the sushi bar, and the atmosphere around the room seems equally relaxed. Rey is operating on autopilot as she's doing the rounds, all fluttering lashes and _champagne?_ and _are you enjoying your evening?_ and _you're very welcome_ before she disappears to serve the next cluster of guests. 

She can't delay the inevitable, though, and eventually winds up in front of the two people in the room that make her heart beat a little quicker, her blood run a little colder. Their easy conversation ebbs at her approach. She holds out the tray carrying the drinks almost like it's a shield against their combined star power.

"Champagne?" Rey chirps. 

"Oh, thank God," Leia sighs dramatically and dives straight for a drink, her fingers glistening with a myriad of colorful jewels. "You came at the perfect time, my dear. This guy will not stop talking my ear off. I've been politely trying to tell him that I'm not interested in DIY deodorant recipes for twenty minutes now, but he just _refuses_ to take a hint."

Her words barely register to Rey, that's how stunned she is from _existing_ in their presence.

Leia Organa, actual royalty and senator extraordinaire. Despite her short stature, she is an Alpha through and through, resonating the kind of warm and inviting sense of authority that makes Rey feel like she's in good hands, like everything will be okay. The woman is wearing a striking indigo dress that hugs her waist—royal colors—and her eyes glitter with amusement even though the biting edge to her tone had suggested that she wasn't _entirely_ joking about being annoyed. 

But even though she is _everything_ , the very heart of this cocktail reception, it's the less imposing, straggly-bearded man in the linen suit next to her that makes Rey's heart skip a beat. It's Leia's brother, Luke Skywalker, the bestselling author of self-help books for struggling Omegas. 

Rey _adores_ him.

"It's all about finding the perfect non-GMO arrowroot flour," he tells them both as he takes a glass for himself, smiling. " _So_ much better than cornstarch, in my opinion. Better for the environment, too."

Her lips part on their own accord. For a moment, she's so star-struck she nearly forgets her place and reels off about how much his work means to her, how much it has helped shape her formative years as someone without a support network, how _grateful_ she is that he exists. Thankfully, she catches herself at the last moment and grits out a beyond stiff, "I hope everything's to your satisfaction this evening. Please let me know if there's anything else I can do for you."

Leia, who is half-way through a big gulp, waves her hand impatiently.

"Everything splendid—splendid music, splendid champagne, everything a birthday girl like me could ask for. Oh, and the sushi is to _die_ for. Did you try some, Luke? The salmon is so fresh it almost jumped out of my plate—"

"Are you alright?" Luke asks Rey as he picks up a glass for himself. "You're looking a bit pale there."

Leia narrows her eyes and looks her up and down, then lowers her voice to a murmur. "Sweetheart, if someone is giving you trouble, I'll need to know immediately. I don't care who it is, I'll throw them out on the street myself."

A reluctant little chuckle escapes from Rey's lips. She knows exactly what the senator is so discreetly alluding to. Shutting down the advances of a handsy Alpha is, unfortunately, a rite of passage for any Omegas working in the service industry, especially in establishments where alcohol is served. That goes double if the Omega is the one doing the serving.

Triple if the Omega is in four-inch stiletto heels. 

And while it is just a little bit irksome that _this_ is what their mind is so quick to jump to—to be reminded that such a big part of her identity is based on something she has no control over—it is rather nice that they cared enough to ask.

She decides right then and there that they are good people, and that she was in the right to like them. 

"This isn't my first rodeo," Rey says firmly. "I'm more than capable of throwing people out myself. Thank you, though. I appreciate the thought."

With that, she excuses herself and disappears into the crowd, heart still pounding against her chest like it's threatening to break free. 

She can't believe she actually _talked_ to them. Granted, she didn't say anything particularly scintillating but still. 

And she didn't do anything embarrassing like trip over her feet or tell Luke that, oh my God, she's his _biggest_ fan. The interaction happened only a few minutes ago, and she's already replaying it in her head on a constant loop as she's threading the guests. She decides she kept it cool as a cucumber. 

Rey Niima, the pinnacle of professionalism in the face of inexorable talent. Oh, Finn will _die_ from jealousy. 

In fact, she could take a little break and tell him right now. 

She's almost reached the side door leading to the bar area when someone quietly clears their throat behind her. She turns around, instinctively holding out the tray and—

Very nearly drops it.

The scent hits her square in the face, long before any other senses can catch up. It's soft but overpowering all at once, freshly cut grass and warm summer rain and the green, green smell of cedarwood that takes her breath away. Alphas in general smell nice to her, it’s simple biology. But never like this. It fills her lungs like honey, impossibly delicious. 

The man—the _Alpha_ —it's attached to is no less impressive, towering over her and the rest of the attendees who keep clinking their glasses and chatting among themselves like everything is okay when it isn't. Unbeknownst to them, the world has stopped. 

Without saying a word, the stranger carefully plucks the last flute of champagne from her tray. In stark contrast to the soothing scent, everything about him is dark—the eyes, the hair that so artfully curls against his shoulders, the immaculate, black suit. Furthermore, there is an air of harshness about him, maybe from the way he carries himself, that makes a tiny part of her want to _cower_ while another part, caught in the thrall of his amazing scent, wants to draw closer, to press up tight against him, to feel—

Rey blinks. What is _wrong_ with her? 

"Are you—" She clears her throat. "Are you enjoying the party, sir?"

"I just arrived. I hope I didn't miss anything." 

At the sound of that baritone rumble, she's powerless to stop her thighs from clenching together. The rational voice in her head warns her that she should flee before things go south. Her feet, however, are glued firmly to the ground, so much so that it feels like she'll flop down on her face if she as much as tries to move.

"Well, the cake will be cut in about an hour so you're good. The sushi bar is over there by that wall if you’re in need of a snack," she rattles off. "The fish are delivered fresh every morning from a local supplier. If you want something stronger to drink, the bar is through this door—and if there's anything else you need, I'll be around."

As she's speaking, her gaze keeps dipping to his hands. It's criminal, really, how big he is. How he makes the flute of champagne look like a shot glass in his giant paw. And then there's the way he's holding it—gently, his forefinger stroking the delicate stem while he's listening. 

God help her soul, it does something to her.

"Anything, was it? Tell me this, then, busy bee—is Luke here?" he asks. 

"Luke?" she echoes dumbly. "You mean Luke Skywalker?" The stranger gives a curt nod, his face giving away nothing, no emotions at all. It's a tad unnerving, if she's being honest. Like she's staring at a handsome brick wall. "He was just talking to Senator Organa. I can lead you to them if you'd like."

The hollow underneath his left eye spasms. "I'm sure I can locate him myself, thank you."

"Oh, you'll love him," she says, unable to contain the excitement from warming up her tone. She knows she's speaking out of turn, but it's all pouring out now in one powerful torrent. "He's absolutely _brilliant_. His book on Omega empowerment—you know, how to find lasting inner peace even without an Alpha and all that—it's practically my sacred text. My friend gifted it to me on my birthday. I've read it so many times I think I can recite in my sleep—"

Rey hasn't quite finished speaking when he gives her a long, hard look and— 

Walks away.

Brushes past her and slips into the throng like she’s _nothing_. Less than nothing. It’s so unbelievably rude that Rey can’t even muster any anger about it, just hollow confusion. 

She rushes out of there in a daze. It doesn’t matter who he is or how his scent turns her insides into liquidy goo. 

She decides right then and there that he is an irredeemable asshole, one that's not worth sweating over. 

And he certainly won’t be getting any more complimentary champagne. 

* * *

"Guess who I talked to just now," Rey bursts out as she plops down onto the barstool.

Finn steals a glance around. Since the whole restaurant is rented out for the reception and the vast majority of the guests are congregating in the nearby hall, it's an easy night for him. Only a few stragglers have wandered in here to seek refuge from the hubbub, and they're all busy chatting and sipping their drinks. Finn and Rey's jobs have different sets of perks, but the one thing that she's always been jealous of is how _pretty_ it is here. 

The overarching design is still the same, all warm tones and woodsy motifs, but it's the ceiling that's the real centerpiece. It's decked out in layers upon layers of artificial cherry blossoms in various shades of pink, hundreds, maybe thousands of flowers. The effect is not unlike sitting underneath the world's lushest and loveliest canopy. 

Having concluded that they're in no danger of being overheard, Finn props his elbows against the counter. "I have no idea, but I'm sure you'll tell me anyway."

Rey has to bite her lip to suppress a grin. "Luke Skywalker— _and_ Senator Organa."

He looks at the ceiling with an air of helplessness, sighing. "I hate you so much."

"And they were so nice to me, too," she gushes. "Luke is the sweetest hermit you'll ever meet, and Leia—well, she's _everything_."

Finn's eyes light up, and he leans in conspiratorially. 

"Is there a way you can ask her for an autograph?" he asks, then frowns. "Or—wait, is that weird? Do politicians even give autographs? It seems kind of weird now that I've said it."

"Hm. It is a bit weird," Rey admits. "Maybe she'll stop by here, and you can ask her yourself."

"Yeah—no. That woman is terrifying. Lovely but terrifying."

A small giggle spurts from her lips. "That's a good way to sum up that whole family, I think."

A few more wandering guests enter the bar area, immediately proceeding to _ooh_ and _ahh_ at the cherry blossoms. Finn, in an effort to look busy, picks up a clean glass and begins to polish it with a rag. 

"Oh, speaking of," he says. "Was her son there, too? The—you know."

Ben Solo. She's heard of him—it's hard to be born in such a prominent family without suffering from at least some of their fame-induced collateral damage. The only two things she knows about him is that he's some kind of a renowned wildlife photographer and that he's never— _ever_ —seen in public with his family. 

"I'm not sure," she says. "Probably not. I don't even know what he looks like, to be honest."

"No, me neither. Wasn't there some kind of behind the scenes drama? Frankly, I wouldn't be surprised if the dude wasn't even invited."

Rey shrugs. She finds it pointless to speculate about private affairs they know nothing about. Which is why, instead of feeding the gossip mill, she pushes herself off the stool and taps the counter. 

"I better get back. Need to keep the champagne flowing."

He gives her the warmest smile, the kind that lights up her whole world and reminds her that, yes, she has a friend and she _exists_. "You do that, babe."

As she's walking away, she hears him calling out from behind her. 

"Hey, before I forget—I'm staying over at Poe's tonight!"

"That's fine," she tosses airily over her shoulder. "More leftover pizza for me. Have fun!"

* * *

When she reenters the reception, she notes that the general volume of everyone's voices has grown just a bit louder, that laughter flows a touch more freely than before. 

Good. She's been doing her job, then.

The next half hour passes by in a flash, with Rey scurrying to and fro, distributing more champagne, collecting empty glasses, and giving increasingly flushed guests directions to the bathroom. Everyone's status notwithstanding, it's a cocktail reception like any other. 

With one notable exception. 

It's the scent— _his_ scent. There has to be north of fifty people here, each with a different designation on top of a whole bouquet of cloying perfumes, and still she can pick out his scent like she's panning river water for gold. She felt it the moment she came back, she feels it now, and, with how sensitively her nose seems to react to it, she's beginning to worry she'll feel it forever.

It's very, very distracting.

Despite avoiding him to the best of her ability, her gaze keeps drifting back to this mysterious stranger as if it's pulled by an invisible magnet. What's not helping is that he's one of the tallest people in the room so singling him out in the crowd is easy. As the evening goes by, she inadvertently notices that he doesn't seem to have any close acquaintances among the other guests. He drifts from one cluster to the next, making polite small-talk and still nursing that one glass of champagne he's barely touched, and even though there's no indication of discomfort, Rey can _tell_ he doesn't want to be here.

Later on, while the senator is making a heartfelt speech—something about the importance of family, Rey isn't really listening—she catches his eyes from across the room. It's brief, an electric zap to her brain, no longer than a second.

Her mating gland _itches_.

But the real trouble arises after the cake is served. Rey is so busy scuttling about she doesn't catch how it begins. All she knows is that the spirits around the room are at an all-time high, and that the scraping of cutlery now serves as a disjointed counterpoint to all the lighthearted chatter. It's all white noise to her, meaningless fluff that goes in one ear and out the other, until a singular voice rises above the rest. Then another.

When Rey perks up her head, the room has quieted down to a low murmur. Following the direction of some pointed glances, she finds Luke Skywalker and the dark-haired stranger smack dab in the middle of an argument. The people closest to them have cleared away, leaving behind what could only be called an impromptu combat arena.

"I did not come here for you," the younger man warns in a voice shaking with anger. "If there's anything you wanted to say to me, that ship has already sailed."

Luke, the calmer one of the two, shakes his head. "I am trying to apologize, Ben—"

Oh— 

_Oh_. 

" _Like hell you are!_ " he hisses, red in the face. 

"—if you'd quit avoiding me and let me talk for just a second, you would see—"

For a split second, Rey sees cold murder flashing in the youngest Skywalker's dark eyes as his hands ball into fists. "Where were you when I needed you?! Why didn't you want to talk to me then?"

"I made a mistake, Ben," Luke says, his voice losing volume at the same speed his nephew's is ramping up. "You have to give me a chance—it's been years—"

"You _never_ gave me a chance!" he spits in caustic tones. "Not _once_!"

"Ben Solo."

Senator Organa has pushed to the forefront of the spectators, a hint of something thunderous wavering just beneath the composed expression, her cherry-red lips drawn into a thin line. Ben's chest is heaving. The hollow look he gives her sends shivers down Rey's spine. He picks up an empty glass from a table, turns it around in his palm in an almost evaluating kind of way, and—hurls it at the floor. 

The nearest guests jump as the sound of shattering glass pierces the air. The stunned silence that follows right after is quickly replaced with outraged whispers. Rey can only imagine what it would be like to be the subject of more than fifty lethal glares, but Ben is taking no notice. After the outburst, he's left looking deflated, his gaze fixed on his mother and his mother alone. 

He then turns on his heel and barges out of the room.

Rey stares blankly at the floor. The only thing she can think about is how _she's_ gonna have to be the one to clean up all those tiny shards of glass.

  
  
  


* * *

She returns to the bar only after midnight, her checkered coat thrown over her shoulders. A soft bed and even softer pajamas can't come fast enough—her feet are _killing_ her—but she pushes all that aside to say goodbye to her friend. 

This late, the lively restaurant is a whole other place, so eerily silent and not unlike a glimpse into a soft alternative reality where time runs slower. A welcome change of pace after today's craziness. Finn is busy with closing out the register as she approaches, only glancing up when she reaches the counter.

"How's it going?" she asks before hiding a yawn with the back of her hand. "All done?"

"Yeah, just about finishing up," he says. "You don't have to wait up, though. Poe is picking me up."

Even though he's looking at the screen, Rey can tell that he's on the verge of breaking out into the _widest_ grin. She playfully rolls her eyes and reaches over and under the counter to where her purse is stashed. 

"I see how it is. Tell him I said hi. He should come over sometime—nothing can fill his lasagna-shaped hole in my heart."

"It's really good, isn't it?"

She sighs. "It's the best. Well, have a _Poe-fect_ night! 

He makes a show of gagging over the register. 

"Disgusting. Leave." As Rey's shoulders shake with silent laughter, he continues, "And this goes for you, too, dude. I'm afraid we're closing up."

The laughter dies in her throat. She looks around the perimeter that's marred with deep shadows under the dimmed lights, sobering, her shoulders squaring because a part of her already knows—knows on some kind of an instinctual level _—_

There he is. So stock-still he's blended in with the furniture. Ben has slumped over the counter at the other side of the bar, chin propped up over folded arms. A glass of whiskey—still half-full—glimmers in front of him, and Rey has to wonder if he's been hiding out here ever since the _incident_. 

He looks miserable sulking there by himself. Rey would feel sorry for him if he weren't—well, _him_.

Something buzzes, and Finn grabs his phone. It must be Poe— _damn_ _him_ —because her friend wiggles his eyebrows at Rey and proceeds to promptly disappear through the swinging kitchen door. 

Leaving them both alone.

"It's late," Ben says in a low voice.

Rey hears him, though. Oh, she hears him _well_. 

"It is," she confirms as she buttons up her coat. "Goodnight."

Out of the corner of her eye, she sees him sit up. "Let me walk you home."

She freezes—then begins to fumble with the buttons at a quicker pace. Whatever is going on in that indecipherable Alpha brain of his, she wants no part in. "That won't be necessary," she tells him. "I live just around the corner."

"It's dangerous to be walking alone at night."

This is why Rey avoids Alphas if she can help it. They—especially the unmated ones—can be too much of an unknown quantity. And while she's well aware that protecting Omegas is their primary biological imperative, that _this_ is the hill he's choosing to die on after treating her like _that_ , well— 

She's not having it. 

"As I said—" she says through her teeth. "I live a short walk from here. Five minutes tops. I do this practically every night, it's _fine_."

"I don't think so."

" _Excuse me?_ " She's raising her voice now while he stares at her from across the bar. "What is this, anyway? Are you trying to do your good deed of the day?"

When he doesn't answer, she gives an impertinent shake of her head and heads towards the exit. He's quicker, though. Much, much quicker thanks to his absurdly long legs. He reaches the doors first, but instead of exiting the restaurant like she's hoping he would—what's another dramatic exit, after all—he _blocks_ her route with his wide frame and crosses his arms.

At this point, Rey is so enraged she could kick him.

What's even more infuriating is that he still smells like the world's most delicious mawn. 

"I'll call you a cab, then," he says somewhat strainedly. 

"That's— _so_ stupid." This is the most exhausting conversation of her life, and her feet, as if they've sensed the proximity of relief, are hurting with extra intensity. "By the time one arrives, I could be home already."

Much to her chagrin, he leans against the doorframe like he's intent on staying there for the whole night. 

"Don't care," he shoots back. "Either I call a cab or I walk you home."

There are many things that she could do. She could call for Finn—or the police. She could make a scene and flip over some tables. Maybe flip _him_ off, too, while she's at it. She could make a run for it and hope that he won't be dumb enough to follow. But, frankly, it's late, and her feet are screaming to be freed from their constricting confines, and even though it grates her to no end, it really would be easier for everyone involved if she'd let him walk her to her apartment and forgot this ever happened.

Defeat must be written all over her face because the corner of his mouth quirks, and then he's stepping aside and holding the door open for her. 

"After you."

Grumbling under her breath, she steps outside where she's greeted with a breeze of blessedly cool night air. 

But that's not the end of this bizarre night. As Ben joins her, things take a turn for the weirder. 

"What the—" 

The expletive fizzles out on his tongue, and the world goes _white_. 

Lights. Lights _everywhere_ . Flickering and clicking and flashing from all directions. And voices—voices of complete strangers—calling out Ben's name and bombarding them with questions that get swept away by the mayhem. Rey has always considered the _caught like a deer in the headlights_ expression to be a bit of a hyperbole, but, as she's quickly finding out, there is some truth to it after all. 

Through this sensory overload, she hears his voice, low but heated, in her ear. 

"Follow my lead."

He then grabs her wrist and whisks her through the gaggle of paparazzi. 

It's all a blur; Rey focuses all her attention on not tripping in order to keep up with his large, determined strides. Ben, on the other hand, is dishing out pointed remarks left and right, mostly an assortment of cuss words mixed in with the occasional personal insult. 

"Who in their right mind uses a 500mm lens for closeups?!" he at one point yells over his shoulder as if _that's_ what matters right now. "Fucking amateurs, I _swear_."

He's so affronted he nearly _stops_.

" _Ben_ ," Rey growls. 

He's glaring at the guilty party in question as he addresses her. "The images will be distorted! That guy has _no_ clue what he's doing."

"Who cares!" she cries out and tugs him forward. "Ben, let's _go_."

And they do. Rey isn't sure if it's his aggressive posturing that did it—or perhaps that they were walking _really_ fast—but soon enough the swarming paparazzi are left behind, and they're once again by themselves on the sleeping city streets. After turning a corner, they both realize they're still _sort of_ holding hands. Ben lets go of her with a small frown.

Rey has nothing to say. Her brain feels like mush. Despite the pain that makes every step feel like she's walking on lava, she keeps up the brisk pace he'd set, eager to get home and pass out.

To erase this macabre night from her memory.

It's Ben who breaks the silence in a tone that verges on tentative. 

"I thought they'll have cleared away if I wait long enough."

Rey exhales a small, mirthless laugh. "Is this—normal for your family?"

"Nothing about them is normal," he drily points out. "But yes. More or less. For example, if I ever want to see my baby pictures, I can always look them up online. It's always been that way—you could call it a curse."

"The curse of money and fame." Rey gives a dramatic sigh. "Poor baby. I'll light a candle for you tonight."

Oh, would you look at that. Alpha isn't pleased by what she said. His scent changes, taking on a darker note that looms over them like a cloud, and her Omega instincts—those stupid, _stupid_ instincts—are quick to launch into remorse mode because how can he be her Alpha when he's mad at her—who will _protect_ her, fight for her? Fix this, she must fix this, she absolutely _must_ —

 _Except he isn't my Alpha_ , Rey reminds herself as she grits her teeth. _And there's nothing to fix. After tonight, we'll never see each other again._

They've reached her apartment complex, a modest if a little grimy building in the plainest shade of beige.

She gestures at the steps leading up to the entrance. "This is me."

Oh, Alpha _really_ isn't pleased. He gives no outward signs of it—to a random Beta passerby he'd even look bored but Rey's sensitive nose is smarter than that. 

"Right," he says tersely. 

"Right." 

There's nothing more to say. Even something as perfunctory as _thanks for the evening!_ or _let's do that again sometime, call me_ would equal a lie. So instead she gives him one of those awkward, tight-lipped smiles—one that he doesn't return—and dashes inside.

* * *

Working without any days off for almost two weeks has taken its toll; Rey sleeps for an _inhuman_ amount of hours. When she wakes up, the world is aglow with the gentle spring sun, daylight streaming through the curtains. She arches her back like a cat, dazed and content.

That is until she roots around for her phone, more out of habit than anything, unlocks it, and— 

She blinks witlessly at the screen, uncomprehending. Something has happened while she was zonked out because her phone is _blowing up_ . Dozens of text messages from—not just her friends but also people she hasn't spoken to in _years_ . Her first instinct is that a tragedy has occurred, maybe something to do with Finn, but then she spots _his_ name in the notifications, too. She skims through some of the newer texts, her mounting confusion threatening to dwarf the Eiffel tower in size, and it's all _nonsense—_ inquiries about some kind of a party, congratulations, laughing emoji, sparkling hearts—eggplant emoji?

Even all of her group chats are suspiciously active.

As she pops into one, she finds that she's the current topic of discussion. 

**Kaydel** **(10:03 a.m.):** she's scored herself a sugar daddy. hope our princess doesn't forget us when she moves into the skywalker castle. 😥

 **Rose** **(10:03 a.m.):** A real-life Cinderella. Good for her. 

**Kaydel** **(10:03 a.m.):** yeah, i'd forget us too if given the chance.

 **Rose** **(10:04 a.m.):** Same. 

Still none the wiser, she opens Finn's texts in the vain hopes that he'll be the one to provide her with some much-needed context, but there's only two messages from early in the morning. 

**Finn (7:12 a.m.):** he really did come with you yesterday huh 

**Finn (7:12 a.m.):** lmaoooo

Rey panics and turns her phone off. 

Heart beating in her throat, she spends a few minutes in a frozen stupor. Slowly, near reluctantly, some pieces are starting to come together in her mind, but she needs that one final confirmation. After taking a deep breath, Rey grabs her laptop from the nightstand and loads up her go-to gossip site. 

There it is.

Plastered all over the front page.

Her face _—_ and Ben's and— 

The paparazzi had had a field day. While there are pictures of his family—among other minor celebrities that attended the party—they are at the front and center with captions such as " _Has the elusive bachelor finally found his mate?_ " and " _The couple was spotted walking home together after the party"._

In all earnestness, they _do_ look like a couple. There's no denying it. Rey was there, and _she_ feels thrown for a loop. Something about the angles makes it look like they're holding hands, and—oh _no_ —the way he's leaning over to whisper into her ear appears _far_ more compromising than it was in real life. Even her state of mild alarm has miraculously photographed as Rey gazing up at Ben with doe-eyes. 

At least her coat looks nice. She's got that going for her. 

And then she sees the headline. 

**Ben Solo's Mystery Girlfriend: Who Is She?**

_Shit._


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This might be the silliest thing I’ve ever written, and I hope you know that I’m enjoying myself immensely. 🙈
> 
> P.S. 
> 
> On the off chance that you’ve noticed a slight change in the title, here’s a little story.
> 
> I was randomly checking my stats when I noticed that literally a half of my fics (3/6) have the word ‘little’ in their title. Embarrased by the fact that my vocabulary is, apparently, the size of a pea, I changed this one up. Soooo yeah—  
> Awkward.

**Ben Solo's Mystery Girlfriend: Who Is She?**

Ben stares vacantly at the article with his phone pressed to his ear, hoping his mother will do him a solid by not picking up. 

" _Benny_ !" Leia exclaims as he stifles the urge to curse under his breath. " _You've been very busy, it seems._ "

"You heard."

" _Everyone's heard, son,_ " she points out, voice containing a sliver of amusement. " _I do have a PR team, you know—it's their job to keep track of these things._ "

A sigh rocks his bare chest while he rakes a hand through his hair. He can see yesterday unravel before his eyes like a long chain of unfortunate events, it all starting with the little brunette waitress in the little black dress. No, even before the waitress, there was her scent.

That scent that drew him across the room in a mindless search for its source, deeply rich but effortless. It brought back memories of him snapping polaroids of bugs and the occasional butterfly in his late grandmother's flowerbeds as a child. 

The kicker is, he _hates_ champagne. 

"It doesn't matter. I didn't call you about that," he says. "I—wanted to apologize."

The word catches in his throat, a strange fit for his mouth. But he pushes through, anyway. 

" _I see._ "

"—for ruining your party," he rushes to add. "I thought—I don't know what I thought, that I could get it under control, maybe. But then he started saying things to me, and I exploded. I'm sorry."

A long pause follows. He finds himself waiting with bated breath. He might be two heads taller than his mother—or not be in the same room with her at all—but she still has a way of making him feel so _small_. 

" _I won't pretend you didn't embarrass me out there,_ " she says. " _As public figures, we have eyes on us, always. You're going to have to learn how to set your personal feelings aside for the benefit of all of us."_

He sets his jaw. "I _know_ that."

" _Do you? Because you don't act like it,_ " she continues briskly. " _I know this is—a lot for you. Spending time with safari animals is nice and all, but I'm worried that your people skills are falling behind. You need to learn how to better communicate. To use your words—and listen."_

She's taking the diplomatic approach, steering the conversation into a safer lane. He's well aware of how hard it must be, to be stuck in an old feud between her twin brother and her only son. But he is tired, so tired of no one ever taking his side. 

"I _am_ sorry," he repeats, not knowing what else to say. 

Now it's her turn to sigh. " _I know, Ben. I know that you're trying. And I do forgive you. But you and Luke really need to work this out._ "

"Let me make it up to you," he offers. "I could take you out to dinner or—oh, there's this Philippe Halsman exhibition that just opened, he's this photographer who worked in black and white, and he's made famous pictures of Dalí and Hitchcock and Audrey Hepburn—"

" _No_ ." He can tell by her voice that she's smiling. " _I have another idea_ — _though I will take you up on that dinner._ "

"Anything."

" _Luke is about to release a new book. You'll come to the launch party on Friday._ "

His stomach drops. 

"No," he says. "Not that. Anything but that."

" _I wasn't asking,_ " Leia says, her tone polite but firm as steel. " _And bring your new girlfriend with you. That is also non-negotiable._ "

"My new girlfriend," he echoes placidly as a cold fist closes around his heart. 

" _Yes, the Omega waitress. I remember her—nice girl._ "

"She is, but—"

" _You know, this may sound strange, but you have no idea how happy I was seeing those photos this morning. I thought—maybe he'll finally ease up a little, lighten up. Having an Omega partner by your side really does make a difference—I should know._ "

He inwardly cringes. Discussing designation-related matters with his parents never stopped being awkward for him. That first talk he'd had with his mother after presenting at the ripe age of fourteen gives him nightmares to this day. 

"But—"

" _No buts, young man, not this time_."

"No, you don't un—"

" _Let me put it to you this way,_ " she once again interrupts him. " _If you want to set things right, here's me extending the olive branch. Come to the book launch. Bring that new girlfriend of yours along. Hold her hand if things threaten to go south with Luke. Vent to me about him afterwards. Clear?_ "

He pinches the bridge of his nose in frustration. "Mom, this is—you don't know what you're asking."

" _Do it for me, then._ " The fleeting note of sadness makes all the fight within him flicker out into a puff of smoke. " _If nothing else, son, please do this one thing for me._ "

And he just doesn't have the heart to tell her the truth. To disappoint her once again. 

When the call ends, the garish article still leers at him, all bright colors and baseless speculation. The pictures do make for a convincing story, that much is true, but he's a photographer himself. He knows firsthand how wide a gulf there is between the reality that is presented to the public and _reality_ , the latter often being far too messy for the general public's comfort. 

He shuts the laptop lid with more force than necessary, then lumbers over to the window wall overlooking the city as he stretches. The day is bright and cheerful, the sky a striking blue, but there are bulky-looking clouds that mottle the horizon, heralding an incoming wave of spring showers. 

He takes in the view without really seeing it. The article is still burnt into his retinas. 

_'Who Is She?',_ the headline had asked. Ben has the same exact question. She's apparently his girlfriend now, for starters, and he doesn't know the first thing about her. Only that the ghost of her scent still clings to his nostrils the way sunlight clings to skin after a day spent outdoors, and that she has a small, dark tattoo on her left wrist. 

A mystery girlfriend, indeed.

A half-maniacal fit of laughter bubbles up inside him as it hits him—belatedly, shamefully—that he doesn't even know her _name_.

* * *

In an attempt to ride out the storm, Rey turns off all her mobile devices, intent on spending her day off puttering around the apartment.

It's easier said than done, though.

Having nestled on her couch under a mountain of knitted quilts, she tries starting that one Netflix show she's been putting off for months. With the way her mind keeps drifting back to yesterday, however, she ends up spending more time rewinding than actually watching. Halfway through the episode, she gives up and switches to her comfort comedy show, the one she could recite in her sleep. But even that fails to distract her to the degree that she'd prefer. 

An assortment of Luke's books is scattered all over the cramped living room. When all else fails, she's always turned to them, but even this little escape feels tainted by yesterday's events.

Whatever she does, the nagging feeling that she's been sucked into something far bigger than her persists. Rey has never been the object of everyone's attention in this way, has never been _important_ enough to become an object of strangers' speculation. 

Growing up, she used to dream about becoming a celebrity. Her fantasy involved her parents being famous actors—or pop-singers since Rey wasn't the most creative child. One day, she'd randomly receive a letter in the mail, not unlike the one Harry Potter received before going to Hogwarts. She'd be invited to a movie premiere—or a concert—and there, in front of the whole world, her parents would reveal the truth, pulling her into the tightest hug her as the crowd erupted into applause. The rest of her life would, of course, be a breeze. 

That never happened, obviously. To this day, she has no idea who they are. What's happening now feels like a twisted mockery of some of her more childish wishes. 

Or a monkey's paw curse. 

Sometime in the afternoon, it starts to rain. The light patter against her windows is music to her ears, and her mood marginally improves. As the first sounds of thunder begin to boom in the distance, her spirits are high enough to venture a trip to the nearby corner store for some groceries.

Rey has never minded getting wet. It's her, her yellow rain boots and the fire-engine red umbrella against the world. Nothing could be better. 

She manages to step exactly one foot outside the apartment complex before nearly colliding with an _extremely_ drenched— 

"Ben?"

He looks just as bewildered about seeing her, like he can't believe his eyes. Her own surprise, however, quickly gives way to irritation. 

"Are you serious? Why are you lurking outside my building?!" She pokes at his stomach with the pointy end of her umbrella. " _Answer_ me before I call the police."

"I'm not— _ouch_ —I'm not _lurking_ ," he protests, rubbing his abdomen. "I was about to head inside."

She cocks a skeptical eyebrow. "So you're prowling instead of lurking because that's _so_ much better. How would you know which apartment is mine, anyhow?"

"I wouldn't. My plan was to knock on every door until someone tells me."

For a moment, she just gapes at him, at a complete loss for words. Rey had thought there was no way she could regret letting him walk her home any more than she already does.

And yet here they are. 

He looks like he's fresh off a fully-clothed swim in the nearby canal, rivulets of water coursing down the side of his pale face. She watches with something akin to morbid fascination as a droplet of water beads at the tip of his rather prominent nose. 

"Why are you so _wet_?"

He takes a step back, still keeping his eyes trained to the umbrella she's brandishing like a sword. 

"I came straight from the restaurant."

"Ah."

"They told me it's your day off."

"It is."

"And I asked for your number, but the manager said they can't give out personal information so—here I am." She slowly shakes her head, still none the wiser as to his intentions, and he hastens to continue, "Look, I know this looks creepy, trust me, and you have every right to call the police on me after, but hear me out first. This is urgent."

She eyes him with renewed suspicion. "What could possibly be _this_ urgent?"

He hesitates. "I don't know if you saw—"

"Oh, I saw."

"Right." He pushes a soaked strand of dark hair from his brow, a distinctly uncomfortable look on his face. "It's about that. We need to talk."

Lightning strikes overhead, and the world flashes white. As they wait for the inevitable clap of thunder in breathless silence, he makes an odd move. Ben swiftly reaches out, aiming for her hand like it's instinct—and maybe it is, she's still very unaccustomed to all of this Alpha business. But he changes his mind before their skin gets a chance to touch, and then thunder crashes with an ear-splitting boom, and the moment is lost in the storm. 

Chewing on the inside of her lip, Rey deliberates. 

Deliberates for a long time while Ben waits patiently and soaks up more rain. 

"Okay, fine, let's talk," she eventually blurts out in a tone ringing with concession. "But, I'll be honest, I can barely look at right now—do you want to come inside and dry off? Not that I care, but if you get a fever and die, the media’s gonna blame _me_ now."

His lips quirk into the tiniest, most fleeting approximation of a smile. 

* * *

Her apartment isn't made for someone his size, that much is clear. As Rey herds him through the dark, narrow hallway, it's almost a comical sight, watching him twist his body into an awkward shape so as not to knock over the many shelves laden with colorful knick-knacks. 

To be fair, it _is_ cramped here—and more than a little dusty. Her stupid, stupid Omega instincts must be acting up again because she's suddenly hyper-conscious of it. A good Omega would never have let tracked-in mud sit out in the open like that, a good Omega is supposed to always keep her home neat and spotless in case a future mate arrives to inspect. But Rey is too busy working to be a good Omega, and this particular Alpha doesn't seem to care.

He does, however, take a second to sniff the air, shoulders squaring. 

"You don't live alone," he surmises. 

"No, I have a roommate. You saw him—he's the bartender at my restaurant."

"An Omega."

"Yes."

He relaxes by degrees. Rey barely stops herself from rolling her eyes. Together, they navigate their way to the tiny kitchen, which, again, feels a few sizes too small for him. The delicate stool that he's quick to plop down on makes a sound she's never heard before, and it is with considerable wary that she eyes its chrome base. That's when she notices that he's still— _dripping_ all over the place and sighs. 

"Wait here till I fetch a towel," she instructs before reluctantly adding, "You can give me your shirt, too, if you want. I'll pop it into the dryer—"

It's off like _that_.

Rey swivels her head to the side, her face on fire, and blindly extends an arm in his general direction, then darts away the second a bundle of damp cotton is pressed into her hand.

It is only when she enters Finn's bedroom, the door closed behind her, that she can breathe again. Mentally swatting away the glimpse she'd caught of his wide, defined chest, she rummages through her friend's drawers searching for a shirt—any shirt—big enough to fit this hulking oaf of an Alpha who seemingly dropped into her life out of thin air.

This whole ordeal is becoming too much for her. It feels like she's being swept away by a wave in an unforeseen direction, like things beyond her control have been set in motion. Furthermore, something just beneath the surface of her skin buzzes with an energy she doesn't yet have the name for. Strange, but not entirely unwelcome. 

Her cheeks are still warm when she throws both a towel and a clean shirt onto his lap. She tries not to stare _too_ hard as he begins toweling off his hair. 

"So… You're a photographer," she says in an effort to make small talk after it becomes clear that he won't. 

"Yes. I only do wildlife photography, though."

Rey hums pensively as she mulls it over. "You don't spend a lot of time around people, do you?" 

"Not really." He peers at her through a curtain of damp hair. "Why do you ask?"

"No reason," she chirps. "Do you want coffee or tea or..."

"Uh, a coffee would be nice, thank you."

As much as she's loath to admit it, even this mindless token of appreciation from him makes the primal part of her brain light up. She's pleased the Alpha, done something to his liking, and his scent is calm and beautiful. The way it should be. 

In such close quarters, it permeates the air. It makes her dizzy, like she's a little drunk on it; she feels it in her _spine_. Rey wonders whether her scent affects him in a similar way and opens the window under the pretense of letting in some fresh air. 

That helps, but only a little. 

_Ugh_. How do other Omegas live like this? 

Then, she sets to making hot beverages for the two of them, grateful that she has something to do while Ben is busy drying his hair and being half-naked in her kitchen.

"Sorry..." he at some point rumbles. There's a shuffling sound of fabric being pulled over his shoulders that tells her it's safe to turn around again. "I still don't know your name."

She snorts at that, the sheer absurdity of it all. 

"It's Rey," she says. "Rey Niima."

He nods with the air of seriousness befit to a businessman conducting a meeting and extends a hand over the tabletop. 

"Ben."

Biting back a laugh, she shakes it. His hand is large, engulfing hers entirely, and its warmth feels like magic against her skin that now feels strangely starved. 

"Rey," he slowly repeats, holding her hand. Holding her gaze. 

A shiver courses through her. 

* * *

She's perched on the stool the opposite his, her legs folded beneath her as she blows on a steaming mug of chamomile tea. She sips it slowly while Ben explains the circumstances surrounding his predicament. By the time he's done, her sentiment towards him has morphed into—not pity, exactly, but something close to it. 

"So you want me to pretend to be your girlfriend," she sums up in dry tones. "For an event."

His long fingers idly toy with the empty cup in front of him.

"Yes, that's right. I'll cover all the expenses—the cab, the—whatever else you may need. Your only job will be to show up and play your part."

A deep wrinkle sets in her brow, and she takes a long sip to buy herself some more time. It's a crazy thing that he's proposing, but somehow she's not nearly as surprised as she should be. In fact, it feels rather on brand for him—and that weird and wonderful family of his. 

"And what do _I_ get out of it?" Rey finally asks.

Ben shrinks like he's in physical pain when he grits out, "This event I'm talking about—it's the launch party for Luke's new book."

She straightens, eyes going wide as saucers. 

"Luke's—I didn't know he was writing a new book!"

"Well, he is." A muscle works in his jaw. "You can—get a signed copy or something. Talk to him if you wish. I won't stop you."

Luke's new book.

This changes _everything_.

Her mind is already racing; she'd never forgive herself if she passed on such an opportunity, _never_. Sure, lugging Ben around will be an inconvenience, but it pales in comparison to all the upsides. Up until this point, she'd viewed his proposition with mild skepticism at best. 

Now, she can barely sit in her seat. 

"I take it as a yes, then?" he queries with a trace of hopefulness that tugs at her heartstrings. 

"What the hell," she says, shrugging. "It's just for one night, right? After that, we shake hands and part ways. No big deal."

He exhales, visibly relieved. The sharp lines of his face soften, making him look years younger. Making the star map of birthmarks stand out more, somehow. 

_You've pleased him_ , _you've pleased the Alpha,_ her inner Omega croons. _Do more of that, make him happy. That's what you're meant to do. That's what you're put on this Earth for._

Oh, how Rey wishes she could tell it to stick it.

Some of the terse atmosphere in the room lifts like a heavy cloud finally clearing up, while outside it's still raining cats and dogs. Ben's eyes sweep across the kitchen, and it occurs to her that only now has he taken his undivided attention off from her. 

"I like your place," he tells her. 

In an instant, her hackles rise. It's an automatic response, deriving from a lifetime spent below the poverty threshold. She hates it when people draw attention to her financial status, hates how _helpless_ it makes her feel. 

"You don't have to make fun of me, you know," she says churlishly. "Not everyone can afford to live in a mansion."

A look of genuine surprise dawns on his face. 

"I wasn't. It's, uh, colorful." He nods towards the windowsill. "The plants are a nice touch."

"Succulents," she corrects, following his gaze to her prized collection of tiny, potted friends. "I have a lot more of them in my bedroom."

He hums and pokes at the one closest to him with the tip of his index finger. 

"I like this one the most, I think. It's very—strange," he says after giving it a close examination.

Rey can't help but chuckle at that. "Yeah, that one's my favorite, too. It's a Baby's Necklace succulent, sort of rare. Stole it from my roommate's boyfriend who absolutely _hated_ it. He kept calling it a can of worms so, naturally, I adopted it and renamed it Beebee."

"To be fair," he says, pressing his lips into a tight line. "It _does_ look like—"

She shoots him an affronted look. "Don't _you_ start as well. Beebee has done nothing wrong, ever."

A hush falls over the kitchen. Rey is slowly starting to believe that, as long as the topic of Luke Skywalker is avoided with a hundred-foot pole, Ben has the capacity to be tolerable, and she knows it's silly, but the way he's softly gazing at the small, fragile plant makes her feel like everything's too _much_ , all at once. 

Her gland itches again. She then promptly mumbles something about the dryer being ready and makes her way to the laundry closet in the hall. 

Only this time, he follows her. A looming—and _warm_ —shadow close in tow.

Rey stares at the wall with her arms crossed as he changes back into his shirt. He's barely pulled it over his head when the front door lock begins to click. 

He freezes, and Rey has to fight the irrational urge to stuff him into the closet. 

It feels like they've been caught at a crime scene. It's too late to do anything about it, though, because Finn is already sauntering in, happy as a clam, positively _reeking_ of an Alpha. The sleepover at Poe's had been a roaring success, then. Not that she'd expected any different; they _have_ been together for almost half a year.

"Oh hey!" Finn tosses over his shoulder as he hangs up his coat, doing a double take when he notices Ben further down the hall. " _Hey_. You're still here."

This is terrible. This is the _worst_. 

Ben's throat bobs. "I am. Nice to meet you—officially."

Before awkward silence has a chance to set in, Rey plasters on a pained smile and takes the reins. "You're back so early! There's still some leftover pizza in the fridge if you want—"

"Yeah, well—" Finn grunts, pulling off his muddy boots. "Poe had an early shift, and I tried texting you but your phone was off, so..." He lifts his eyes to the two of them. They must make for quite a sight, hovering awkwardly in the hallway. "Hey, now that we're all friends, I've always wanted to ask—is it true that your dad used to smuggle marijuana?"

" _Finn_!" Rey hisses and turns to Ben. "You don't have to answer that, I'm sorry—"

He seems taken aback by the swift change of topic but recovers quickly. "No, it's fine. He did, for a few years. Before he became an actor."

"Ugh, that's so _cool_ ," Finn sounds almost _angry_ about it. He then disappears into the kitchen, and after the telltale squeal of the refrigerator door being opened, calls out, "Well, make yourself at home! The walls are thin, by the way, so spare me the pain and keep the nastiness down."

"It's fine, he was just leaving!" Rey calls after him before lowering her voice to a heated murmur. " _You are leaving, right?_ "

Ben shakes his head in an effort to clear it. "Right, of course."

She manages to walk him to the front door when Finn emerges from the kitchen, folding a slice of pizza into his mouth.

"One last thing," he says, swallowing a large mouthful. " _Can_ you get me a signed autograph from—"

"That's enough pestering for one day, I think, _thank_ you!" Reys says sternly as she pushes Ben forward. 

Then they're at the door, and Finn—damn it, he's still _there_ , standing in the doorway and chewing on his food like he's watching the halftime show. Her mind blanks out entirely because their little charade isn't supposed to start until Friday; she's wholly _unprepared_. She blinks up at Ben, at a loss as to what to do.

He searches her face for a moment. Her heart is fluttering like a wild bird when he draws a breath, leans down—

— _don't go in for a kiss, don't go in for a kiss_ — 

Rey doesn't have to fake the rush of relief she feels when he pulls her into a quick, stiff hug. 

"I'll see you on Friday, then?" he quietly asks her. 

"Right," she mumbles, flustered. "'Till later."

He then mutters a goodbye to Finn and all but hightails it out of the apartment. 

And so it begins.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Links:**
> 
> Shamelessly plugging **[Philippe Halsman](https://www.google.com/search?q=philippe+halsman&client=firefox-b-d&sxsrf=ALeKk02MMqQ1oY3T7NYJa9HlYsKDee48Kw:1595531274110&source=lnms&tbm=isch&sa=X&ved=2ahUKEwjyvMiWieTqAhVLXpoKHctDBaYQ_AUoAXoECCIQAw&biw=1440&bih=694)** because his body of work is great, and you should really check him out (and, before you say it, I know he died like fifty years ago...everyone needs a shout-out sometimes). I mean, look at **[this masterpiece](http://100photos.time.com/photos/philippe-halsman-dali-atomicus)** What's going on there? Dalí is having a eureka moment, cats are hopping all over the place, not to mention the floating chairs and water… Ugh, his *mind*.
> 
>  **[A Baby Necklace succulent.](https://www.google.com/search?q=a+baby+necklace+succulent&client=firefox-b-d&sxsrf=ALeKk00zOc3lcSt7kdN_V6oq8BcFbaDPbg:1595531482164&source=lnms&tbm=isch&sa=X&ved=2ahUKEwipmOP5ieTqAhWGR5oKHeRaCKQQ_AUoAXoECAoQAw&biw=1440&bih=694)** It really does look like green caterpillars—or the twisty kind of pasta if you're feeling hungry.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey guys!  
> I’m so, *so* incredibly sorry about the hiatus—quarantine depression got the better of me and I was hit with the worst writers’ block imaginable. That, along with some irl stuff, made it impossible for me to write, but I did think about this fic every single day. So here it is, the next chapter in which things heat up quicker than I’d intended.  
> (Rey and Ben have a mind of their own, sometimes.) 
> 
> Huge thanks to the lovelist of betas, [dyadinbloom](https://archiveofourown.org/users/dyadinbloom/pseuds/dyadinbloom). Many, many smooches to you!

The following days pass without incident. Rey is working nonstop, which goes a long way in steering her mind from what's to come. They'd exchanged numbers back at her apartment, but Ben hasn't texted her anything apart from the details concerning the event, which is—fine. After all, they barely know each other, and Rey certainly isn't going to text him herself. But, as Friday draws near, the reality of what she'd so carelessly agreed to alarms her more and more. 

He hadn't actually _specified_ what the whole 'pretend-girlfriend' thing would entail. In order to do that, they'd have to talk, which is something they're not very good at. At certain points, while she's on her break at her job, Rey picks up her phone and clicks on his contact, fingers hovering over the keyboard. She never figures out what to ask, though.

 _'hey sorry to bother u but will we have to make out??'_ doesn't quite cut to the root of her worries, but feels less abrasive than ' _just wanted to clarify…is this some kind of paid escort thing? bc that's not what I agreed to"._

The thing is, a part of her doesn't _want_ to know. By Wednesday, she's decided that it'll be better for her nerves if she stops all the pointless worrying and rolls with it. 

_Just a few hours_ , she keeps telling herself. _You can endure any awkwardness for a few hours, can't you?_

Still, her heart is beating a little too fast when, at seven thirty on Friday, she finds herself clutching her purse in the pristinely white hotel lobby, feeling gauche among the soft marble and alabaster. The bright sunflowers on her sundress draw a bit too many eyes, and it doesn't help that the gilded ballpoint pen in the receptionist's hand _definitely_ costs more than Rey's whole outfit. 

Thankfully, she doesn't have to wait long. A few minutes pass, and Ben emerges from the revolving door, his gaze fixed on her the moment he spots her. He's dressed down compared to his mother's birthday, wearing a slate-grey shirt underneath a black blazer, the dark jeans he's opted for accentuating his strong thighs. The casual way in which he strides over indicates that he's spent more than his fair share of time in places such as this, which does nothing to calm her nerves.

His eyes sweep down the length of her body, then back up.

"Don't be afraid," he says to her in a low voice. "I won't bite."

Even disregarding the accidental innuendo, the Omega part of her preens because Alpha had _noticed_ the second he walked in, so sensitive to her mood. He’d take good care of her, wouldn't he, that's what he's _supposed_ to do— 

The Rey part of her frowns.

"You didn't say hi."

He cocks his head. "Hi. You look—nice."

"Hello." And because she can’t let it go, she adds, "I’m not _afraid_. A little nervous, maybe, but not afraid."

Disbelief flickers across his features, and he says, "No offense, but your scent is very loud."

"Wow." She'd expected as much, but it didn't mean he had the liberty to say these things out _loud_. "You really are the blunt sort, aren't you?"

"So I've been told."

"Well, you should really work on that," she points out in dry tones. "Maybe if you do, you'll get an actual girlfriend one day."

Ben looks dumbstruck for a second, and Rey half-expects him to get upset. But then, wonder of wonders, his mouth curves into a small, amused smile. One that she reluctantly reciprocates. 

He offers his elbow. "Shall we?"

Rey takes a deep breath, steeling her nerves, and takes it. As her arm wraps around his bicep, it's difficult not to be impressed by the hard layer of muscle underneath, and Rey's fingers dig into his blazer—not out of nervousness but because it’s the only way to prevent herself from slipping up and copping a further feel.

"It will be fine," he murmurs to her as they make their way to the elevator. "My mom likes you, so just be yourself. Act natural."

This is the part where she’s supposed to reveal that she’s never dated an Alpha. She's always been too busy for a serious relationship; in-between work and the little pauses she has to unwind, time simply slips through her fingers. She's gone out with a few Betas in the past, but there was never that immediate spark, nothing that can develop into serious feelings. And, despite her friends' persistent objections, her heats have always been a thing she's suffered through alone. 

In short, she has no idea what 'act natural' even _means_ in these circumstances. But she still nods. After all, how different can it be? 

Turns out, it is. It is very different.

The elevator door dings shut, and they're left by themselves in the cramped space. Rey discreetly tries to angle her head to the side because every lungful of air fills her with his dizzying scent. 

Ben extricates himself from her. 

"Rey." There's a tentative edge to his voice that she doesn't like. He takes a deep breath before continuing, "We have to scent each other. They'll be able to tell, otherwise." 

Just like that, she becomes aware of how _trapped_ she is here. She darts a furtive glance at the control panel, which shows the elevator whirring to the top floor at a snail's pace. Her heartbeat picks up; scenting is supposed to be _intimate_ , isn't it? The equivalent of kissing or whatever. She's caught sight of couples doing that whole necking thing so many times—always secretly wondering what it felt like. 

A warmth creeps up her cheeks.

"Do you have a preference?" he gently asks, like he's trying not to scare her.

The best she can manage is an ineloquent, "Uhhhhh." 

Her mind is drawing a _complete_ blank as it is, and then he steps closer to draw her hair over her shoulder. To uncover her neck. His already dark gaze darkens even further upon landing on her scent gland, launching her insides into a freefall. 

_Alpha_.

"The—normal way would last the longest, but..." he mutters, sounding dazed. His eyes flick to her face, and whatever it is that he sees makes him blink and shake his head. "Sorry. We can just do it with our wrists. Would that be okay?"

The elevator has moved up two floors before Rey remembers how to speak. Barely.

"I suppose—I mean, if we _have_ to..."

"We do have to," he confirms. "Here, let me—"

The process ends up being a lot less dramatic than she expected. His wrist on her neck is light as he brushes it against her gland, repeating the motion several times until he reaches the desired result. It's a far cry from the real thing, she knows, but her thighs clench together all the same. He's marked her for everyone to know that she's his. Temporarily, but still.

And then she does the same thing to him. Blushing furiously as her fingers tangle into impossibly soft hair. 

"There," he murmurs after it's done, with the barest hint of a smile. "Much better."

She hasn't quite recovered from what had just occurred when they're on the top floor. A short corridor leads them to an open, brightly lit area with windows spanning the walls. The view they offer is beautiful—a glinting city cloaked under an eggplant-colored evening sky—and the hall crammed with neatly arranged chairs, most of which are occupied by excited guests.

Rey spots some photographers, currently setting up along the edges of the room, and chokes back a groan. She's expected as much, of course, but her recent altercation is still too fresh in her mind. Meanwhile, Ben's focus is on a different matter entirely.

The corner of his mouth tugs upwards. "A lot of unmated Omegas here... Interesting."

Rey grimaces and grabs onto his upper arm. 

"You can play the cock in the henhouse when I'm not here," she grouches. "Which is to say, _behave_." 

He looks at her, eyes glinting. "I will if you say that word again."

Before she can round on him for behaving like a child, they're interrupted by a familiar voice.

"Benny, my dear! I'm so happy you came!"

It's Senator Organa in all her glory, flanked by a small retinue of harried-looking assistants. A smile spreads across her face, her diamond earrings glittering almost as brightly as her eyes. 

"I did promise I'd attend," Ben mutters, sounding a bit embarrassed. "This is Rey, by the way. My—date."

"Rey, of _course_. Your face has been all over the news lately."

Rey schools her expression into what she hopes is a smile. "Hi! It’s, uh, a pleasure to be here. I’m a big fan of your brother’s work, so..."

"Are you really? How fortunate!" she says, clasping her hands in delight. "I hope the media vultures have been leaving you alone—I haven't seen any new photos, but you never know. I remember when those pictures of me and Han came out. Remember, Ben? The ones of us relaxing by the resort pool? We didn't know peace for _months_."

Ben sets his jaw. "If all you did was _relax_ , it wouldn't have been such a big deal."

"We've been keeping a low profile," Rey rushes to add and, in a burst of inspiration, places her hand on his stomach. He must not have expected it because his abdomen jumps at her touch. "You can never be too careful."

Leia hums. "That's probably wise. Our family has always been somewhat of a favorite to the tabloids. You get used to it."

_You get used to it._

The absurdity of the situation sets in anew. Her previous relationships had never lasted long enough for her to meet the parents, and here she is. Chatting with her fake boyfriend's mother as his arm is wrapped around her. They say that compatible Alpha/Omega couples tend to move faster than the speed of light, but this really is something else. 

She wants to laugh.

"I still don't see why _my_ presence is needed here," Ben grumps. "I'm not exactly the target audience for this kind of—literature."

Leia's lips do quirk, but it is the sort of smile that scares Rey more than a conspicuous scowl ever would. A politician's smile. "Your presence is needed because I'd like to see the face of my son before he disappears into the North Pole for god knows how long. Again."

"The _South_ Pole. I went to the South Pole, and I'm here now."

"Yes you are. Like it or not, family is important, " she says with a touch of tenderness. There's an enthusiastic stir around the small platform on the other side of the room, and they all turn to look. "Oh, I think it's about to start. You two can go ahead, I still have some things to take care of—Kaydel, where's my phone—go on, go on, don't be shy. Your seats are over there at the front!"

Then the senator rushes out of the hall with her phone pressed to her ear, her flock of assistants in tow. 

" _Great_ ," Ben mutters under his breath once they set off. "It's like they're deliberately trying to piss me off."

Rey does her best to turn her attention on him and not the myriad of surreptitious glances and murmurs levied their way as they walk. "What's your problem with Luke, anyway?"

"I'd rather not do this right now."

"Why not? I mean, since we're _here_ —"

Out of nowhere, a spindly photographer jumps in front of them, blocking the path.

"Mr. Solo. A quick photo, please?" he asks, eyes cast downward as he fumbles with the camera settings. "With you and the mate?"

Rey puffs up. "The _date's_ name is Rey."

"And she's very camera shy, so if you'll excuse us..." Ben drawls.

Still, as if saying his name out loud had been the magic word to break a spell, a flurry of clicking noises starts up from all around. Ben groans and pulls her forward. The short way to their seats feels torturously long under the scrutiny of so many eyes, some curious and others—less so. Rey wonders what it must look like, the two of them together. Him and his rugged elegance and his perfect hair, and her in her cheap dress and second-hand shoes. Do they think she's a gold digger?

Despite herself, a wave of resentment rises from deep within. 

So when they plop down onto their assigned seats and Ben casually drapes a hand over the back of her chair, Rey leans into him, just a little bit. Just to show them.

"They're staring at me," she murmurs into his shoulder. 

"I know," Ben says. "Ignore them."

"I bet this doesn't happen in the South Pole."

He smiles, eyes glazing over with a warm memory of cold snows. "I'd take the South Pole over this place any day of the week."

"I don't know," Rey drawls, half-teasing. "The paparazzi are an annoying lot, sure, but at least they're harmless. Unlike polar bears."

"Polar bears are in the _North_ Pole," he softly corrects, patient in a way that suggests this isn't the first time he's had this conversation. "The South Pole is mainly penguins and seals—and mountain ranges instead of ice."

"Penguins," she whispers, and then, "What's it like?"

"The South Pole?"

"Being far from home. Seeing the world."

He blinks down at her, momentarily taken aback.

"You've never been abroad?" When she shakes her head, he frowns. "Why not?"

A disbelieving laugh escapes her lips before she can stop it. "Uh, because it's expensive? Because I have a job that I can't afford to lose? I do want to, don't get me wrong, but _honestly_."

He opens his mouth to quip something back, but applause erupts all around them, a harsh bursting of their private bubble. Rey doesn't see the moment when Luke takes the small stage; she is a bit too short, but she does notice the exact moment _Ben_ spots him. His expression shuts down, like a shadow that's fallen across his face. Like he's put on a mask. 

_What went wrong between you two?_ she muses, not for the first time. _What could have possibly caused such a rift?_

Luke enters her field of view, a beaming figure in front of a charged crowd. His hands are clasped in front of him, and his benevolent, twinkling gaze brushes over every single person in the room. It doesn't escape her notice how Ben near imperceptibly sinks lower into his seat. His scent changes too, taking on a darker, slightly more bitter note that reminds her of expensive bourbon.

Her mating gland itches. Again.

"Quite the crowd we have today," Luke briskly announces. "And I'm beyond grateful for each and every one of you. Who knew that even after years of doing this, I'd still have things to say? Not me, for starters." Polite chuckles break out all around. "But this is the last one, I promise. My one last book, as a gift to you, and then I'll be done, I _promise_." 

Rey is only half-listening. Luke can command a room much better than the average Omega, but she can't help but fixate on Ben who drapes a frustrated arm across the back of her chair. Alphas are biologically programmed to protect their family, their mate. Rey doesn't know what either of those things feel like, but she can imagine. Imagine and empathise. This—whatever _this_ is—must be tearing him apart. 

She makes a decision, then. She will get to the bottom of this mystery, this family drama that has, in all fairness, nothing to do with her. But he's given her a way in, even if by accident, and she is _curious_. 

Very, very curious.

Luke is well into the presentation now, and Rey squirms in her seat. Normally, she would be hanging onto every word—this is Luke Skywalker, after all—but she can't quite make herself concentrate. 

It's Ben. He's distracting her. The moment Luke begins reeling off about his new book, the tips of Ben's fingers graze her upper arm. It's barely a touch, lighter than air, but her skin is bare, and the contact is electrifying all the same. She freezes, mind blanking out, all discussion threads lost, currents of hot and cold coursing through her body. Some phrases like _positive solitude_ and _Alpha/Omega codependency_ do make their way to her ears, but Rey can't make sense of them, can't put them together because the Alpha next to her is touching her again, and it's everything. 

He's not even doing it on purpose—at least, Rey's pretty sure he isn't. His large fingers are tracing circles into her skin in a mindless way, as much for his comfort as it is hers. She lets it happen, doesn't want it to ever stop. His warmth around her soothes her in a way that's more than physical; it fills her every cell, surging through her like a slow tide. The breath that she's holding in sparks with anticipation. She feels light-headed.

This goes on for an eternity and no time at all. When Luke finishes speaking, every nerve ending in her body is charged with electricity, like a weapon ready to fire. 

_Do I affect you as much as you affect me, Alpha?_ _Do I please you?_ she wants to ask, but doesn't, because Ben is lost in his thoughts, barely paying attention to the surroundings. 

The entire presentation has gone by and she hasn't heard a _word_. Instead of new insights into leading a life of an empowered Omega, the only thing she's gained is an ache in her scent gland. It longs for his touch again, for his rich, golden scent in her veins, now that some of the effect has worn off. 

Rey won't ask for more, though.

Then there's applause again, loud and grating, and they're looking at each other with an air of mild confusion. Like they've just woken up from a dream. 

That's right. This thing between them, it's not _real_. 

* * *

After a brief Q&A section and some less than pleasant mingling with the other guests, Rey finds herself standing in a winding line for a signed copy of Luke's new book. Ben had been with her until very recently—in fact, he'd barely strayed a step from her side all night—but then she had to go and clear her throat, which he'd taken upon himself to resolve by offering to bring her a glass of water. 

She watches him go, tall and dark like an icebreaker ship in a sea of Omegas, and does _not_ think about how cold and empty her side where he used to be feels, when a loud clicking of heels coming to a halt makes her turn her head. An impossibly tall, impossibly _blonde_ woman—an Alpha—is looming over her. Rey, who is more than a little startled, takes an automatic step back. The woman flashes a smile that's supposed to be reassuring, but all it does is imbue her imperious features with a wolfish bent. 

"Gwen Phasma from Chandrila Enquirer," she announces without preamble. "I'm here to cover the launch, obviously, but my colleagues would _kill_ me if I didn't seize the opportunity. You don't mind answering a few questions, do you? It will only take a second." 

Rey looks around for help and finds none—Luke is up to his ears with signing books, Leia had all but dashed out the hall the moment the presentation was over, busy as always. ("Typical," Ben had grumbled under his breath and commented no more on her hasty exit.) Everyone else around her is lost in their own private bubbles, chatting amongst themselves. She is alone. 

"Uh..."

"Wonderful!" The reporter clicks a chrome pen. "So—any first impressions on the book? Omega self-help books are all the rage, _obviously_ , but do you think Skywalker still has what it takes to stand out in an oversaturated market?"

Just like that, Rey feels like she's back in high school, carefully navigating her way through English classes without having done the assigned reading. She does what she did back then. She pivots. 

"There are many self-help authors, true, but most of them tend to overromanticize the Omega designation. While it's nice to hear that 'we can do it all no matter what'—which is true—, Luke has always gone with a more realistic approach. He wants us to make peace with the bad parts as well as the good. Balance, and all that."

After Rey presented, it had taken her _years_ to come to terms with her designation. The realization that she, through no fault of her own, would never match an Alpha in terms of strength and speed, _hurt_. She hadn't had the best childhood. Physical strength, raw power, had a lot of value on the streets. But then came Luke and his wise teachings, and Rey learned that there are many ways to be strong. Compassion, kindness, resilience—there's value in them, too. 

The other woman nods, but it's an automatic nod. A journalist's nod, suggesting that she's listening without hearing. 

"Speaking of balance," she says, "I see you've even managed to drag your mate with you—"

"Date, he's my _date_ —"

"Your date," she loftily corrects. "You can see why this is so surprising, obviously. Mr. Solo spends all his time abroad, is _never_ seen with his family, and yet the moment _you_ show up it happens twice in one week."

The conversation is being steered into dangerous waters. Rey has to tread carefully.

"I'm not hearing the question."

The reporter smirks. "What's your secret? An Omega from the wrong side of the tracks and the reluctant Alpha heir to the Skywalker dynasty—it's a cute story, very Disney—but something isn't clicking here."

A twinge of panic twists in her gut. As far as she's aware, she's still a 'mystery Omega' to the press. "What—you don't know that. You don't know the first thing about me or his family."

"But I do, Rey," says the reporter. "I recognized your uniform in those initial photos. You're a cocktail waitress at _The_ _Chasm_. One phone call was enough to confirm it."

"So?" Rey asks, defensive. "I don't care about the optics, and neither does he. We have chemistry, that's what matters. Real chemistry."

The reporter raises a platinum blonde eyebrow. Rey can tell she doesn't believe her at _all,_ which is ridiculous because _why wouldn't she_? She wants to argue some more, to defend their relationship to the world. In fact, she's so riled up by the deep-seated skepticism that when a strong, familiar arm wraps around her middle, she only feels relief, momentarily forgetting herself. 

Ben's back, holding a glass of water in one hand and Rey in the other. She lets out a small breath of relief. 

"What's this?" Ben barks. "Go harass someone else—Luke is right over there."

"I'm just doing my job," the reporter answers, voice sweet and cold as ice. "Wanted to meet this Omega of yours. For years we've been taking bets in the office about who's going to be the Omega to finally crack the code."

"Don't you have private lives? I can't imagine being this invested in someone else's. _Shoo_."

For a moment, the two lock eyes. It must be some kind of Alpha thing, a wordless battle of wills, because Ben's scent becomes just a little metallic, a little aggressive, even _protective_. They're in a stare-down, completely unmoving— 

The reporter harrumphs and turns on her heel, clicking the pen one last time. Just like that, the tension that had threatened to boil over dissipates, and Rey can _feel_ rather than see his shoulders relaxing. 

"Whatever you say," the blonde woman says. "But I hope you realize that your supposed Omega doesn't smell like you at _all_."

  
  


* * *

Ben is suspiciously quiet by the time they reach Luke. He'd initially planned on letting Rey talk to him in private, but after the run-in with the reporter, he's reluctant to leave her side. He doesn't _seem_ angry, but what does she know? Maybe he's saving it up for Luke. 

When they, at last, find themselves in front of Luke's desk that's laden with neatly stacked piles of his latest book, he gives them both a smile that's just a little wary around the edges. Ben is terse too, his posture stiff, so she follows her instinct and once again places a hand on his abdomen. 

_Don't do anything stupid_ , it says. _Not now. Let me handle this._

This time, he isn't startled by the touch. She takes it as a good sign. 

Apart from rumbling the most perfunctory of greetings, Ben stays mostly silent as Rey exchanges pleasantries and receives her copy of the book. The small talk with Luke borders on forced, and Ben's presence hangs heavy over the two of them like a storm cloud, but the personalized message the writer leaves for her makes her heart swell a few sizes. 

In a loose, disheveled print only found in doctors and artists, he writes, _To Rey_ . _The world is a big place. Don't be afraid to carve a piece of it for yourself, no matter how small. Luke._

As she reads the inscription, once and then once more for good measure, Luke glances at Ben. 

"Will you two be joining us next week?" he asks him with admirable nonchalance. 

Rey perks her head. "Next week? What's next week?"

Ben works his jaw for a moment, eyes trained on Luke's weather-worn face. "Is it really March already?"

"Indeed it is," Luke brightly replies, then turns to Rey. "Our annual spring cleaning at the estate. It's a big place; hardly seen any use over the winter. Of course, nobody _wants_ to spend the weekend cleaning windows and pulling weeds, so we make an event of it, invite our friends and family. You two are more than welcome—we could always use a few extra pairs of hands." 

Rey frowns, trying to process the information, then, before she can help it, blurts out, "The estate—you mean the Skywalker castle?"

Luke cracks a smile, and even Ben relaxes by degrees, making a sound that suspiciously sounds like a chuckle, though he tries to cover it up with a cough. 

"It's not _that_ big," Ben says. "But it is that ancient. You're wasting your efforts, Luke; the manor should've been bulldozed years ago. The only thing we do with it nowadays is keep it from collapsing. Which is why we—"

"We gladly accept," Rey is quick to interject. _The Skywalker castle._ She has to go for the bragging rights alone. Her heart speeds up, inwardly bracing for an incoming wave of protests from Ben. For now, though, he's silent. Still but silent. "I've heard so much about the estate, especially the garden. It should be lovely this time of the year. We'd love to lend a hand, wouldn't we, Ben?"

A pause. 

"Uh _,_ _sure_ ," he grits out. "If that's what you want, sweetheart."

Luke nods, a little surprised but pleased. "It'll be peak daffodil season, too. They're my favorites."

"Daffodils?" she asks in skeptical tones. "No offense, but that's a bit of a—choice."

He laughs, then, leaning back in his chair, and Rey finally gathers enough courage to glance up at Ben. She expected him to grow furious over the little stunt she just pulled—after all, now he has to spend an entire weekend with his family—but that's not what she finds at all. No, he's gazing down at her with a calculating, incredulous kind of intensity, like he's trying to figure her out. Like he's too stunned to even be angry. 

"It's not what they look like, but what they represent," Luke says. "Daffodils, the harbingers of spring. The flowers of new beginnings." He picks up another book from the pile and nods his head to the people behind them, beckoning them to step closer. "To me, there's nothing more beautiful than the idea that you can always, _always_ begin again."

* * *

They move aside to let the other guests get their copies signed. Ben's hand closes around her wrist as they weave through the guests, but instead of coming to a halt where the crowd begins to thin out, she feels him tug on her arm, and they keep _going_. More than a little confused, she lets him lead her onwards, past the rows of chairs and little clusters of people, past the photographers who are beginning to pack it up for the night and the windows that glint with thousands of warm city lights. His loping strides force her into a little trot as he insistently leads her past it all and then through a service door, only stopping when they're all alone in an empty, rather narrow hallway. It's dead quiet here, save for the low buzzing of lights overhead. Ben finally turns to her, looking at her—through her—so piercingly she takes a step back. Her back hits the white wall, the surface cold against her skin. 

"What do you think you're doing?" he demands. 

She does a half-shrug, feigning innocence. "I want to see the house. The flowers and—uh, everything." 

"You want to see the house," he repeats, slowly. "You do realize that now we'll have to keep this up for an entire weekend, this time under the close watch of my family?"

Rey tries to swallow, but her throat has suddenly gone very, very dry. 

"Would that be the end of the world?" she asks, sounding small. "I think we fared rather well tonight." He laughs then, a disbelieving little sound that is smothered by the hum of the lights as he steps closer, crowding her against the wall. "What, you don't think so?"

He searches her eyes. His scent is so rich, so utterly overwhelming it makes her head spin. She wants to get far away. She wants to bury her face in his neck and breathe him in until nothing else exists, until he's coursing through her veins like a fever. 

He growls, "I think that you should behave, Omega."

Her hindbrain lights up at the designation, the word ricocheting through her like an electric shock. 

Still, she gathers enough wits to whisper, "You forget. You're only pretending to be my Alpha."

"That's right." His eyes are so dark they're almost black. "If you were my Omega, my scent on you would be so thick no other Alpha would dare even look at you. Inside and out, I'd claim all of you. _Everyone_ would know."

She's helpless to resist rubbing her thighs together and is mortified to find slick already gathered there. They should stop, but it's like a dam breaking, all the furtive touches adding up to a delayed crescendo, both of them drunk on each other's scent, and she _knows_ she's playing with fire, but she can't help it. Can't help being a little bit of a brat. 

"If my scent bothers you that much, maybe you should do something about it."

His gaze dips down to her neck, and she shivers. "I will."

That's all the warning he gives her. He dips his head down, diving for her neck like he's parched for it, his tongue making contact with the flushed and aching skin of her scent gland almost immediately. She cries out in relief, arching into him as her mind whites at the sensation, as he licks bold, possessive strokes against her skin. His lips are softer than a dream, sinfully pillowy, and she lets him take whatever he wants because it's everything. Her skin sings his praises, so sensitive to his touch, she doesn't know how she used to live without it. 

"Much better," he murmurs, voice coarse as gravel. "So much better, Omega."

She can feel slick pooling into her underwear now, and the last bastion of her rational thought prods at her to stop. Before she does, though, she grinds down on him, just a little bit, just to check, finding him rock-hard in the confines of his jeans. She presses up against him, which results in the smallest burst of pleasure, and he _growls_ against her neck, and— 

Somewhere to the right, a door swings open. They both spring apart like they've been burnt as an unimpressed-looking cleaning lady crosses her arms by a cart. Her scent is neutral, practically nonexistent. A Beta. Not that it stops her from knowing exactly what's going on, of course. 

Ben turns his head away, a bright red flush creeping up his neck. She only glimpses his face for a second, but it's enough to make out an expression of pure, bone-deep mortification.

"I apologize," he mumbles, and it's not clear whether he's talking to the woman or Rey—he's not quite looking at either. "I—it won't happen again."

Before she can stop him, he bolts out of the hallway. She's left clutching the book to her chest, slick between her legs. A thousand aching thoughts, racing under the harsh fluorescent lights, and the harsher glare of the cleaning woman. 

**Author's Note:**

> Don’t forget to feed the writer by leaving kudos and/or comments! Every little bit helps. ❤️
> 
> Give me a follow on [Tumblr](https://themoonmoths.tumblr.com/) and [Twitter](https://twitter.com/themoonmoths)!


End file.
